Caliban slinks through nighttime city streets — a warped facsimile of Greenwich Village. He stands a full story high, only remaining concealed due to his black fur which seems to absorb any light that touches his frame.

How did he get here? Was he supposed to be this large? Wasn’t he traveling with someone?

An open doorway catches his attention. Something about the way it’s lit… or perhaps the materiality of the door… or perhaps the fact that it’s open… Caliban can’t place the compulsion yet continues forward. He pokes his timid head across the threshold and looks up a set of stairs fading into darkness.

A voice reaches out to the large fox: “Hello, Caliban. I’ve been waiting for you. My name is Antwohnette.”